Deepest Secrets
by Nancy Boy
Summary: Secrets belong to everyone, but Fred wishes to unlock only two. fw/gw, fw/dm, gw/dm, gw/fw/dm, gw/sf, dm/sf, ss/dm, (and if you're not sure about all these pairings, just read the story)
1. A Hand Beside Me

Disclaimer: Not a thing here is mine (save the indecent behavior between the characters and the plot and the sexual innuendo). It's all the work of the master-mind J.K herself *hasty nod* Though I am slightly nift at her for not coming out with the fifth book yet. Oh well! Life goes on, right? Anyways, that's enough disclaimer, I think I've exhausted it already. Enjoy and tell me what you think of my shit. I'm always open to suggestions.  
  
Warning: Slash! If you have a problem with m/m that's not my problem! Don't blame me for writing it, I'm only a helpless fanatic. *sigh* Well, there's plenty m/m, sex, there could be rape, plenty of touching, and who the hell knows what else could be in store for us!  
  
~*~don't hate me because I'm beautiful~*~  
  
kisses  
  
gHoSt WRiTTeR (aka Tom)  
  
  
  
A Hand Beside Me, copyright 2002  
  
  
  
Fred sat looking out the train window at the ever-changing scenery of English countryside, his head resting on his forearm, supported on the slim window-sill, his forehead and red tresses pressed against the windowpane. His chestnut eyes felt blank as he stared at a passing cow. He heard George sigh some way behind him, where he had left him reading next to the compartment door. George gently placed a white hand on Fred's robbed back and Fred heaved a sigh identical to that of his brother's.  
  
"We're almost there," said George softly, as if trying to not rouse his twin from a deep sleep. Fred smiled into his arm. He was dreading this school-year for some reason, but George made it al worth it. He loved having his close companion to stand by him always, no matter what came about this year-or any year, for that matter. He loved his companion, above all.  
  
Fred wriggled out from his position, his back aching slightly, so he could look into his brother's identical honey eyes. Though when he looked into them, in the delicate, creamy, warm-hearted, face of his twin, they were different than his. A difference only a twin could notice. It wasn't in the colour, or expression, which frequently mimicked his own. It was something deeper, something more beautiful and personal than his precious body beneath his black school robes. Something which Fred himself held close and dear, and not even he would dare share it with his twin, let alone George share it with him. Albeit he longed dearly and personally to know and caress this cherished part of George which he had never seen or touched before.  
  
George's thin but rosy lips curled into a loving smile as he brushed fiery- locks out of Fred's eyes and pushed them behind his ear. "Did I wake you?" He purred, resting his hand on the base of his brother's neck, that deep secret behind his eyes pulsing in a dark, melancholic rhythm. Fred's longing to know it grew stronger, even though he had thought of this and longed for it for years now.  
  
Fred shook his head lightly, as not to let the soft hand slip away. George slowly closed his eyes in a small bat of red lashes against his high, smooth, white cheeks. He was a beautiful creature, more beautiful than himself, as Fred thought. Fred wondered how no one noticed this enormous factor-how George was even more stunning and charming than the dull, reddish light of Fred. George was all passion and fire: a true Weasley, a true mark of family beauty. Fred silently shook his head in amazement. How had he never noticed before?  
  
Fred let himself slip into the arms of his twin and rested his head in the nook of George's arm, the identical boy not stirring an eyelash, as if in a serene sleep, though his arms lifted to tighten around Fred's body and press him closer to his chest. Their breathing was identical, chests rising and falling in an exact duplicate pf the other. Even the heart beats pound silently on the same rhythm. Fred nuzzled his face into the shirt under George's open robe, inhaling the sweet, pure scent of his brother, longing to be deep inside him-his mind and body-wishing for this moment to never end, and closing his pale lids over his weary eyes, praying for eternal sleep next to this immaculate creature.  
  
When Fred was almost certain he had obtained sleep, a sharp rapping at the compartment door jolted him to a sudden and harsh consciousness, and he lifted himself from the warmth of the other body next to him. A small, pleading noise came from George's throat in protest, and his arms pulled Fred in tighter, but he squirmed out of the grasp and sat, a bit dizzy, looking out the window and the pane of the compartment door, past which students were rushing to-and-fro, gathering luggage. They had arrived at Hogsmeade //already//. Fred groaned to himself at this.  
  
George, who had been breathing steadily with sleep, opened his eyes groggily to see why his warm blanket had lifted itself from him. Fred helped him to his feet and they collected their suitcases with some effort, being tired and now in a grave mood from being disturbed in their peaceful slumber. Fred's dread of this year had been increased by the reality of finally having arrived . He had so enjoyed this vacation that he could barely endure to come back to this hell of studying and books and chalk- boards for another year. It was almost to hard to bring himself to step off the train with his brother at his side.  
  
George could sense him hesitate at the train's threshold, and placed a firm but gentle and loving hand on Fred's shoulder. Without any words needing to be said, Fred had all the emotional support he needed: his brother-and his treasured feeling deep inside him, which now was his destiny to unlock, as was his own destined to be.  
  
As they head for the dark, looming walls of Hogwarts, George's hand clasped tightly to his own, Fred smiled to himself with the drifting idea that this year didn't have to be so bad. After all, he still had his own secret, did he not? Fred grinned deeply. 


	2. A Novel Beauty

Disclaimer: You know it. Nothing is mine, just the twisted minds of the characters, it all belongs to her godliness J.K Rollings. Bow down to her!  
  
Warning: Ah..Lovely Slash. m/m. Enjoy!  
  
A Novel Beauty, copyright 2002  
  
  
  
The school hummed and danced with a new excitement, risen by a firm gossip that special protection was to be put up around the school because of the resurrection of the satanic Voldemort. Though this news should be considered startling, all the students, save the ones in Slytherin house, were alive with the danger and prospect of a possible attack on the castle. As for the Slytherins, they gleamed with an unspoken pride, not even denying it when they were confronted for it, above all other fifth year students, Draco Malfoy. The rowdy blond standing as tall as he could draw himself up to, his chest out and a smirk playing across his delicate, chiseled, features. He had changed a great deal since the previous year. Fred couldn't place it. Nor could George, when they talked about it. He looked...pained isn't the right word for it. Despite his shinning, Slytherin pride-which made it difficult to keep your eyes off him-it was as if he had a dark secret of his own locked deep inside, one which tormented him, and made his thoughts bleed in the dead of the night. Though these were hardly things for Fred to think about. After all, he was still that slimy git from the previous years. Snotty little rich brat which spoke poorly of their family ("poorly" being the understatement of the year).  
  
As for George's hidden feeling, Fred struggled to sneak it out if him. They would stay up late whispering under the covers of one of their beds, so close Fred could feel George's soft breathing. And they would talk, almost all night, about everything they could, Fred straining to find a hint of what he might not know of his brother. It was fruitless, something Fred could throw his hands up in the air and scream about. He felt like shaking George silly until the word slipped his perfect lips. The twin, although had different perspectives and opinions of some things, felt earnestly equal to everything Fred felt. Not a suggestion of even the merest feeling for anything they happened to mention late at night in their seventh year's dorm.  
  
But, Fred sighed, it was just as well. George never mentioned anything that even brushed passed the idea of Fred's own secret, which he intended to keep for himself until George dug it out of him. It was just the way he was. He needed to be brought to the brink of exploding anger to open up what was dear to him. But George wasn't that way. //That// was what puzzled Fred. George was trusting and open, and would let any close secret of his slip out without a backwards glance in front of a person he loved and trusted so greatly, like Fred. It just wasn't like him to not confide in him like he was doing.  
  
Fred would feel like kicking himself for not having thought so thoroughly or dug for this secret before. It had been there for years. And if George was anything like Fred was, the thought had been tender and vulnerable when first cut into his mind, but over time he had learned to conceal it and almost forget it entirely, except something kept rousing it to surface. But now the gash of his secret was practically untouchable because of this learned veil of self-protection. It served Fred right for not having noticed or mentioned this significant, concealed feeling before.  
  
It was a few months before Fred started noticing.*  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was the first time Fred had been alone in the Hogwarts' halls since the school-year started. In previous years at Hogwarts, even before Ron came into the school, he would walk the less-used, deserted passageways of the castle in search of solitude and peace-of-mind. He would only walk there when he needed to think something out in earnest or needed to be alone with himself. The school year was proving the opposite of his fears and was moving along swiftly and painlessly. Except for the boring classes, shallow exams, and droning teachers, the year was practically perfect. The weather was perfect and the Griffindor Quidditch team had been practicing tirelessly for the upcoming Quidditch matches. Fred risked a few moments alone to ponder George, or just not think at all.  
  
He was pacing along an extent hall that ran between deserted classrooms and a series of floor-windows facing the grand lake at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the Hogwarts' grounds. The scenery from this height was mesmerizing, the deep, glassy lake shimmering in the rosy colour of the late afternoon, and the dark grey-green boundary of the wood smudged with a rustic, ruby tinge. The lake reminded him so painfully of George, so profound and beautiful, yet so mysterious and hidden from everyone and everything that it caused an innate, anguished yearning to know it's dark limits, that a soreness burnt in his chest from it. The sky was a milky rose colour hovering above the almost endless wood and reflecting in the unfathomable body of water, which dimpled and swayed only slightly in the warm, spring breeze. Everything was alive with the beating heart of spring and a playful reflection of the whole school's dreamy feeling.  
  
The school year was a few months away from ending, and it had gone by so fast that Fred barely had time to savor the taste of the joyful year. Voldemort never showed so much of a foot any where, and all news about him died out quickly. This only added to the ever lasting conveying sigh which the whole of the school shared, even the Slytherins, oddly enough. Though the loss of his great hero did little to lighten the look of utter sorrow in Malfoy's eyes.  
  
He felt as if Malfoy were alone in the expanse of the school, and Fred was the only person there who was observant enough to notice this slight, yet unmistakable, change in the silver boy. Perhaps he didn't want anyone to notice, or maybe even he wanted desperately for someone to dig it out of him, like Fred wanted George to do with him, and was too terrified of the rejection from his cohorts, so used to his menacing disregard and nonchalance, if he were to tell them of his weakness. But this was all speculation and most likely all in Fred's imagination, besides the fact that it was none of his god damned business to be meddling-or even wishing to meddle-in the personal life of an almost total stranger.  
  
That's what Draco was. A stranger. As was his own brother to him. He could barely recognize George's sweet nature because of his own interference with his twin's perfect reputation.  
  
Tears welled in his eyes as he closed them from the sunset, the image of his brother rising to his eyes under their lids. He couldn't bare not knowing what was so dear and close the bosom of his perfect, little, delicate, love. He couldn't stand the fact that his brother couldn't trust him. Someone so open as George not able to confide in him.  
  
He braced himself on the window-frame as he felt a warm, salty tear rush down his pallid cheek. Another came streaming after it down the opposite cheek. Two more tears rolled down his pain-contorted face, illuminated with the cherry light on the horizon. He was crying because of his own stupidity. He was crying because he was frustrated, and lonely, and wanted to be held as close to his brother as his brother held his secret. He wanted him to confide in him. He wanted..  
  
His thoughts were broken by the sudden presence of another person nearby, eyes on the back of his neck. He didn't care who it was, he just wanted to be alone, apart from the fact that he hated to be seen crying, even by George.  
  
"I want to be alone," he announced softly and timidly, not wanting his voice to crack in mid-sentence because of his shameful tears, which, in his mind, didn't even have a good reason for falling.  
  
The person didn't move.  
  
Fred slowly turned his head and even more lengthily opened his eyes, even though he was looking down the hallway now, and the figure was standing directly behind him, he couldn't see him. He knew now his tear stained face was visible in the warm light, and the expression on pain was still clear on his features. He prayed it wasn't anyone he knew standing there, he didn't want to have to do any explaining. Not now. Not today, when he was in so much turmoil. The figure still didn't stir, now that he had a tiny glimpse of black robes in the corner of his eye.  
  
He turned around fully, his back to the window, to face whoever stood watching him. The boy there stood slumped against the wall opposite him with his hands behind his back, Slytherin emblem on his chest glistening silver and green in the welcoming light. His eyes were now closed gently against his flawless marble cheeks, usually pouting lips closed neatly and delicately in no apparent emotion, and silver-blond tresses glinting beautifully in the early evening glow. Standing there he was the serene image of a ceramic statue representing a sleeping child, yet not quite life- like enough to be one. He was so utterly still, and far too young for his age.  
  
Fred feared to move, incase he woke the gently poised boy, but he stood fighting an inclination to go towards the young-man and embrace him, hold him dearly, as if he were his own brother, telling him he loved him and the secret didn't matter as long as he still loved him and trusted him. But this other beautiful being was not George, no matter the resemblance and tranquil, unruffled, nature. Though Fred didn't mind giving in momentarily to a warm, accepting feeling of this new cool beauty.  
  
He quickly became aware that this was an alien object in his plasma of being and feeling, something odd and inexperienced. This struck him full- blown when the seemingly carved eyelids fluttered open to reveal icy eyes, with that pain still etched in them, first looking down emotionlessly at the stone floor, then directly into Fred's own. Their eyes were interlocked and felt almost painful to look away. There was comfort and understanding in those clear, glassy, planes, the secret ache only a mirror image of Fred's own.  
  
Across from him, there in the darkening hallway, was another person who knew what it was like to be alone and in pain. Someone who could //understand// him.  
  
"What are you-" But the words died on his lips as he spoke them. Something in the smaller boy's eyes told him wordlessly that he ought not ruin this moment. A moment they had both strived for.  
  
Fred found himself instead brushing away his tears and walking to the tormented boy in front of him, the pale eyes watching him emotionlessly all the way. He stood almost instantly towering directly over the younger, beautiful boy, who turned ever so slightly, sensually, to lean in front of him. There was a mixture of strained, silent words passing between them, of understanding and fear, insecurity, and pain so unimaginable that Fred couldn't bare thinking of it. Too much was said already.  
  
He whisked Draco in his arms, where he seemed to yield willingly to the taller red-haired boy, and Fred had his lips upon his. A sigh of relief was breathed from the platinum youth, while they shared their mouths for each others tongue. The kiss was mild, yet so incredibly satisfying, as if they had both been waiting years for this exact moment, that exact second of pleasure where their chests heaved together and Draco delicately ran his hands along his back, Fred's own entangled in silver locks. Something was right, there in that space of sensuality. The kiss endured and their hearts only increased in speed against each other. There was no reality there, no matter how long the kiss continued. It was all a pleasant, milky, dream, something that would end soon and serve as a day-dream for a whole weak. Yet, it persisted, and the hands about his waist were as real as his George was, and their movements were even more real and pleasurable than the first time he had made love.  
  
A liquid hand strayed from his waist and ran down to his hips, than it squeezed between the two boys and pressed against a place ever so personal to him. Fred moaned into Draco's mouth, his heart pounding in his ear. The hand started moving fluidly up and down against his growing erection. Fred broke the kiss to bury his face in the sweet smelling blonde tresses, and wrap his arms around the small shoulders, drawing the boy closer. Draco instinctively buried his face in Fred's neck and kissed tenderly. The harsh motion against his hard-on was so erotic, pleasant, painful, and the knowledge that such a striking thing was causing it. He gasped and moaned silently with its rapidly increasing motion. He could feel the blonde smile into his neck.  
  
Draco stopped suddenly and Fred caught his breath, a tight cluster in his chest and his stomach a knot with his erection, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Draco lifted himself from his place in Fred's neck. Fred moaned softly for him to continue, but Draco lifted a long white finger to his lips to signal his silence, while he looked off into the vast passageway. Fred noticed how his eyes had been momentarily devoid of pain, the likes of which they were now regaining.  
  
Draco detached himself entirely from Fred, whom he left sweating and panting in the his place, as he blew him a kiss and fled down the corridor, swiftly turning a corner and out of sight.  
  
"Draco..." Fred whispered to himself, almost pleading, wishing that he were to return, to finish what he had started.  
  
Footsteps could be heard faintly hurrying along a nearby passageway somewhere behind him, and he turned to receive their owner. George was panting, clutching a stitch in his side and bracing himself on the same window-sill where Fred had stood in tears, his emotion now entirely flipped around.  
  
"I've been looking for you everywhere!" George gasped, trying to catch his breath desperately.  
  
Fred looked at him as blankly as he could, hoping his fiery twin wouldn't notice how distraught he looked.  
  
George's desperate, innocent face turned worried and racked with concern. "Are you quite well?"  
  
Fred nodded as convincingly as he could. Though not quite assuring him, George continued rapidly. "That little red-head snot we call our brother just set off //all// our dung-bombs and blamed us for it when Filtch came round. Come!"  
  
He suddenly grasped for Fred and soon had him running along behind him towards the Griffindor common room at full speed. Fred smiled to himself. Maybe it wasn't too late to forget everything he had been speculating in his mind, and things could go back to normal with George. They could lay next to each other in perfect harmony and love as they had on the train. Maybe.  
  
But that Malfoy was another story.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
sorry, but * is not going to appear until the next chapter. I know! I brought your hopes up. I'm evil :-P  
  
gHoSt WRiTTeR (aka Tom) 


	3. The Beginning of Chaos

Disclaimer: If you don't know already, then i was wrong about you. Any- who, so I don't get in trouble, it's all the doings of J.K and I just helped the characters along a little.  
  
Warning: nothing too graphic except for all the love. Dear god, oh the love! LOL, just s bunch of m/m, sex, and other content (lucky you).  
  
  
  
The Beginning of Chaos, copyright 2002  
  
  
  
The dorms were terrifyingly silent that night. The dung-bomb fiasco had been settled by the twins being blamed (as always) and a few hours in detention. Now Fred lay in bed, his back to the rest of the room and facing the pale moonlight erupting from the window. Sleep was impossible, whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was the stunning silver boy. Touching him, kissing him. He saw the graceful form undressing him and running his hands over him.  
  
He could envision himself laying naked with the nude figure of the beautiful boy spreading kisses over him. Kissing his throbbing erection.  
  
Fred squeezed his pillow and bit his lip, with hand between his thighs, heat spreading over him in waves, he strained to stop himself from calling out the boy's name in a cracked and orgasmic voice for the whole of the sleeping dorm to hear. He rasped against himself, compress his eyes shut as tight as he could, envisioning what the boy would be doing to him. What he would be doing to the boy. And oh how perfect that boy was. His perfect lips. Those lips running along his crotch.  
  
Fred whimpered into the abyss of his pillow as stream of warm fluid rushed out from beneath his hand, onto the sheets. He lay, breathing heavily, panting into his closely held pillow, face buried deep in it. He wanted to touch that boy so badly that he could hardly stand thinking of it. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
His head snapped up almost mechanically to look at the owner of the hand. George was hovering over him, angelic in the silver light, a silky look of brotherly love on his precious face. He bit his lip as he looked down at Fred, red hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and chest heaving, albeit he did not remove his hand.  
  
Fred was utterly abhorred. "George-I-" he hastily tried to explain, but George shook his head with confusing understanding.  
  
"I know," he whispered, closing his eyes in that tauntingly beautiful, godly, way. And with a dreary, yet skillful, movement, he hoisted himself into the bed, laying in front of the hunched form of Fred, and placed his head on the bed next to red head already laying there, foreheads practically touching.  
  
"Dearest Fred," he sighed, his eyes still closed in that peaceful, serene manner, which the light of the moon caught so perfectly.  
  
Fred tried to straighten himself out more, so he could have a better look at those immaculate features: the narrow nose, chiseled skin, plush, rosy, lips. A more beautiful image than even the blonde angel which brought him to such a stage of sexual pleasure and longing.  
  
He found himself truly embracing the godly youth, running his fingers through his hair, whispering in his ear that he loved him, and nothing else mattered as long as he still confided in him.  
  
George drew him back slightly, the dark in his honey eyes more visible than ever, meeting his with precision. George brought his face so close their noses touched, and closed his eyes once more, his long red lashes brushing Fred's cheek.  
  
"Nothing else matters," he whispered so only Fred could hear, "Besides the fact that we love each other. Who cares if there are some things we keep to ourselves? You still love we just as much as you had before you suspected, right?" He pushed forward so gently and so subtly, that Fred barely noticed his lips had met his own. The silk of his lips was more amazing than anything he could have imagined. He closed his own eyes with the taste he thought so incredible that it could not possibly be human. The kiss even more gently, loving, and warm than that of his earlier encounter. They fit so perfectly together, that it was impossible to think they had ever been apart.  
  
Fred's hands instantly started trailing over the long body, almost roughly pulling at his lover's boxers. George broke the kiss momentarily to gasp for air, but dove back in by spreading kisses along Fred's neck, sucking playfully at the skin. Fred, before touching any part of his lover's that would cause him to gasp out, he reached out one hand to draw the curtain of the four-poster bed that separated them from the rest of the dorm.  
  
George moaned softly with the caressing, and a tone of slight surprise escaped with it, as if he not been expecting it. Fred continued to indulge him with the sensation he had had earlier, only this one more direct, his flesh making contact with his brother's. He pressed harder with satisfaction.  
  
George gasped out, and stopped his kisses to brace himself against Fred's shoulders. "Fred," he gulped, now squeezing his lids shut. He was already hard like a rock, and Fred's now once again engorged.  
  
Fred started lowering himself down the beautiful white torso and kisses the delicate, soft, creamy skin of his brother's sex. George let out a small, inaudible moan and thrust his hips upwards into Fred's mouth. Fred's mouth engulfed the organ gracefully and his red-head could be seen bobbing at George's crotch, living out his fantasy of what he would do to the elusive blonde, though having more fulfillment at the moment with this perfect being. AS he looked up at the boy he was brining satisfaction, he could see him biting his lip in an attempt-a poor one at that-to keep in his groans in, his eyes still clasped tight.  
  
Fred lifted himself from the weeping cock, licking his way back up his twin's exposed chest, despite George's pushing. He drew the boy's long, limber legs, over his shoulders, catching a faint look of mild horror in his brother's face before it was replaced by one of deepest pleasure. Fred thrusted into him without hesitation, a quite audible strained scream emitting from his lover. Although struggling against his own screams, lifted a hand to George's mouth and kept it there, where he could feel the gasps against his palm, and could hear a far-off sound escaping from beneath it, like leaking air. He lifted his erection almost completely from him before re-entering.  
  
Another muffled scream could be heard from under his palm, as his pulling on and off motion picked up speed and he could barely control the strange noise erupting from his own throat.  
  
He wrapped an arm around George's back to hold him on him as he came in side him. George screamed against his palm again, squeezing his eyes as hard as he could manage, and came onto the bare skin of his brother's waist. His chest heaved, falling and rising in tune with Fred's. Fred withdrew his hand and saw he had left red mark on his identical's perfect skin, and, now that his libido was settling, he could feel the distinct tingle of a certain bruise on his neck-far too high up than it should be.  
  
His lover's breath settled and he could see his hazel eyes open now upon him, the rich darkness gone completely as they reflected the silver gold of the moon. As he accustomed to, George reached out with a shaky hand and brushed the hair out of Fred's eyes, leaning over and kissing him softly on the nose. The gesture was amazingly court and sensual, yet Fred found it more personal than anything they had shared that evening. He found himself blushing deep crimson under his brother's once again closed eyes.  
  
Trying not to understand this new feeling his twin aroused in him, he embraced George with the same love he had always felt for him, although this seemed strangely inadequate and insufficient for the moment and for the new person he had found in his brother. But his counterpart accepted it all the same and for a few seconds they were once again the glee siblings they had always been. They sat side by side, re-buttoning their night-garments and kissing each other playfully from time to time. As they did so, Fred noticed George's gaze drifting and the darkness return, full- blown. He was still filled with emotion from their love-making, so much so that he couldn't contain himself.  
  
"Tell me what you hide from the view of all others," he sighed. George stopped fumbling with his pajama buttons to concentrate his dark watch on his brother, something with a close resemblance of hurt deeper still in the black of them. Fred continued. "That which you hold so close you don't even share it with me, your closest companion." He lifted a long hand to his twin's cheek, but the seemingly shocked boy shoved it away, his eyes wide and affirmatively hurt.  
  
He lifted himself from the bed with the same cat-like motion he had entered it, hesitating slightly at the curtain separating Fred's bed from his own. "I thought none of that mattered to you," he murmured into the crimson of the velvet. "But I guess I had even my own twin figured wrong."  
  
Fred reached out to touch him, but he had pushed his way to his own bed already, and could be heard settling in it, the curtain still swaying slightly with his movement.  
  
He mentally kicked himself then. He hadn't meant it to sound as though he still thought George didn't trust him. He just wanted to know. And it was //very bad// to not be on speaking terms with one's twin, especially after having just had sex with him.  
  
Dear lord! What had he started?  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
sorry it's so short, but what comes next is too long to put with it.  
  
Hope you like their interaction! Because I do!  
  
~*~don't hate me because I'm beautiful~*~  
  
kisses  
  
gHoSt WRiTTeR (aka Tom) 


	4. Chaos

Disclaimer: Okay! I give up! I admit it all belongs to J.K! Are you happy now?  
  
Warning: mind fucks, innuendo, sexual content, and who the fuck knows what else. Beware!  
  
Chaos, copyright 2002  
  
  
  
THE LAST WITCH OF 15TH CENTURY NEW GUINY, the book read, WAS HUNTED DOWN BY THREE YOKLES AND ONE AUSTRALIAN, ALL WITH WHAT SEEMED PITCH-FORKES, BUT SPECIALISTS...  
  
A white hand was obstructing Fred's view. He looked up to see the sensual Slytherin standing over him, his hand down on Fred's History book, that same serene look washed over his usually jeering features. Right there in the library, in front of Harry, Hermionie, and that twat of a brother of his at the next table!  
  
He must have been a spectacle, looking around at the library surrounding him as if Draco were all over him already. In Fred's mind, that look, that soft, milky feeling Draco had only shared with him and him alone felt almost as personal and close to him as it were an actual kiss. Even closer to him than a kiss could be. He wouldn't be surprised if that was George's dark secret. But he retorted almost immediately at the comment, mentally slapping himself. That //wasn't// funny.  
  
Draco just stood there, his ice eyes excluding everything but the redhead he looked down at. The pain in them was lessened. Perhaps these were the makings of some strange snake mating call, mused mockingly. But on a more serious note, this could be the sign of something he was barely getting to know. Something deeper even than George's secret.  
  
He shook his head at this. He didn't want to have another thing to dig out. George's drama and veil of self-protection was job enough, thank you very much. And with George's recent over-dramatization of everything they had shared that night, and Fred's indiscrete prodding was giving him a hand- full (not to mention an ear-full whenever he tried to ask him why he was being such an overgrown kindergartener).  
  
Draco, presently, was doing nothing, and his elaborate nothing was attracting the curious looks of many students around them. Fred placed his hand discretely over the silver blonde's, meaning only to shake him from whatever peaceful waking sleep he found himself in. It worked, and he stirred, a great deal actually. So much so that he turned around to look at the gaping fifth and sixth years and frowned to himself. He retreated his hand so he could place both behind his back formally, while he leaned over Fred to whisper, "Meet me at the edge of the lake during lunch, and don't bring your look-a-like."  
  
With a flick of his platinum-blonde hair and a quick turn on his heel, he was gone and dashing through the hallways outside the library. Girl admirers turned to gawk after him. Fred doubted if he should go or not. He most certainly knew what this certain cad was famous for: hunting down his prey in a romantic pursuit, and coming in for the kill just when they were vulnerable enough. Then he would drop you as quickly as a vulture dropped the useless bones from his devoured carcass. But what he had seen in that boy's eyes...That couldn't be an act. Not even Tom Cruise could pull that one off. Just that made each visit of his worth it. Those eyes.... He thought hastily that he should shut the fuck up before he mentally physically abused himself again because of sounding like a queer fool. Albeit, he still showed up during lunchtime at the edge of the lake.  
  
  
  
Draco was sitting at the edge of a diverted pool, somewhere off of the main lake and into a clearing in the beginning of the woods. It was a pleasant, cool place, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the branches overhead, and the sun shining down on them to create a blue-green canopy overhead, which only served to make the secluded area richer with shade and spring warmth. Fred hesitated at the side of one of the trees caging the din of peace, so he was entirely hidden in shadow. Draco was out of school clothes and now clad in a long-sleeve and a pair of blue jeans, a cross dangling from a leather cord around his neck.  
  
While Fred stood in exile from the pond, Draco sprawled himself out on the mossy floor of the clearing and supported his weight on his elbows, gazing quietly into the calm, transparent, shallow, depth of the pool, where a few small fish glinted in the blue light of the foliage. He retorted at himself for not having changed out of his uniform, suddenly aware of how hot he felt in black.  
  
The platinum teenager turned his head gently to look at the secluded form of a tall, nervous, fiery Griffindor student. Fred suddenly felt uneasy under the cool gaze, which felt and looked as beautifully still as the pond.  
  
"Won't you join me?" Draco's voice was as smooth as silk, yet it had the smallest note of warmth in it. Though Fred supposed it was only because he was overly observant. Fred stepped cautiously into the clearing, as if he were a mouse stepping into the claws of a cat, and let himself be entirely entombed in green/blue flora, standing tall over the resting boy and the pool, which he could now see had an equally mossy bottom. He folded his arms over his chest and tried to look away from the cerulean eyes scanning him, by looking into the pond with forced fascination. It really wasn't that interesting.  
  
"How did you find my elaborate meeting place?"  
  
Fred supported his weight on nothing, whilst he continued to follow the slow, dry, path of a copper coloured fish. "I used to use this as a hide- out when I first arrived to Hogwarts. I thought you might come here."  
  
"You must have me all figured out." He gave a short, dry, bark of laughter. Fred looked over at him with what he wanted to seem like spite, but was rounded off to be more like a mild version of contempt when his warm eyes met the cold ones of the boy he had come to meet. The dark in them was as prominent as George's had been the other night. His face had suddenly gone a frightfully serious; an expression which gave his glass eyes a look of total sorrow and self-pity.  
  
Fred felt the indescribable urge to be completely honest with him, with his feelings and words. "I don't know what to make of you, really." He said it so quietly his words barely left his mouth. It sounded as if he were saying it to himself.  
  
Draco lifted his knees to his chest and hugged them, so he looked like a lonely, tearful child, looking into the rocky, moss-covered floor of the pool. He once again looked far too young for his age.  
  
"Why do you suddenly pursue me?" The words spilled out of him like water overflowing in a full glass. He hadn't wanted to say it, like when he had asked George that utter stupidity about his personal secret. Though this didn't even have half the effect on Draco as it had had on George.  
  
He sat as tranquil as the composed vegetation, eyes growing clouded over and distant. "Because you're the only one who notices."  
  
Fred frowned a bit to himself at not having noticed that he was noticing something of such importance. "Notice what?"  
  
"Me." He drew his legs closer to chest so that he doubled over them. "And your brother, George."  
  
"How am I not to notice my own twin? He's always there, isn't he? Though sometimes I wish he wasn't...I feel like strangling him sometimes."  
  
Draco curled his pink lips into a meek, half-hearted smile in the direction of the pool. His earnest smiles were even better than his serene look. But Fred shook himself from his sudden wave of dreaminess to concentrate on what Draco started to say.  
  
"You look at me differently than you with any one else. I know you're searching me for something, some hint of what I might be holding from everyone else. You look at your brother in the same way: looking for something in him. You're right, you know." He looked up at Fred know, who was boring a hole into the side of his head with his eyes. Fred shivered under the cold glare, which seemed to rise a sudden chill into the air.  
  
Seeing as he was being waited for, he asked warily, "What do you mean?"  
  
Draco partially smiled again, giving rise to a dreamy look and the tiniest of dimples in his cheek. "We both share the same bleak enigma. Though, I have a darker bit of knowledge to add to it."  
  
Fred raised an eyebrow. Even though he trusted the silver-snake because of the unmatchable feeling in his eyes, he was abruptly filled with a very high suspicion. He wasn't believing a word of this. George didn't even know the little blonde git existed, let alone share something as personal as that with him. He couldn't bring himself to believe it-no mater what it was.  
  
"So, why am I here, then?" Fred found himself saying rather discourteously.  
  
Draco turned back to the fresh dew pond. "Because I want you here..No, let me rephrase that. I want //you//."  
  
This last sentence struck Fred hard. He had been so formally cold with the boy. Perhaps he should show how warm he was capable of being. This seemed like a good plan.  
  
He got down on his hands and knees next to the hunched form and brought his lips to the soft white ear-lobe of Draco's bowed head. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully, and kissed the smooth plane of his cheek. Draco didn't turn but he moved back slightly so he could rest his head side-ways onto Fred's shoulder. He blew air happily onto his neck, while Fred stared ahead blankly.  
  
"Draco," he said quietly to the shrubbery ahead. "What secret?"  
  
Draco lifted himself slowly and patiently from the soft ground of the clearing while Fred drew himself up to a kneeling position to look up at him. The blonde brushed a strand of stray silver hair from his eyes and partly closed them to look down into the pond once more. He gave a small sigh and fumbled with the cross on his chest. "That, most beautiful twin, is for you to find out."  
  
With that settled he took off at a quick pace back to the castle. Fred lingered near the pool of tadpoles before leaving himself. He thought strongly about everything Draco had told him the whole way back to Hogwarts castle. He needed to have a serious talk with George, if George was willing to stop being a large child and accept Fred's deep apology. This would be hard to do without mentioning his encounter with Draco, because, if what Fred thought was going on was in fact going on, George would be in even more of a fluster than before.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It's amazing how one twin can always find the other, no matter how far away they are from each other. George was walking alongside Seamus Finnigan (of all people) in some southwest wing, talking hurriedly about something or other. He seemed mightily out-raged when Fred plied him from his talking companion, though this didn't matter to Fred. He had worked up quite a curiosity on the way over. //What time could George have shared with Draco, where and why? Did they have a relationship, what kind? And if so, were they still in it? Was George in pain or ecstasy? Did he feel guilt, or anguish? // All these things ran through his head in abundance- not including the fact that Fred was wondering tediously if George was thinking or had thought about him, Fred, in that way (the way they had shared that other night).  
  
He was a flurry of emotion as he took George by his arm and diverted him into an old, unused classroom. George scowled at him and pretended not to notice he had been taken from his friend in the first place. This was a very hard thing to do, and George did it poorly. He had too much emotion to show none- though he did display utter contempt very well, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot with vengeance.  
  
"Georgie!" Fred cried desperately to his scornful brother. George turned his head towards a window showing the corridor- where Seamus stood anxiously, peering nervously through the window- pretending not to hear him. Fred could scream. Why did he have to be so difficult!  
  
He couldn't restrain himself from taking the boy by the shoulders and shaking him violently. George looked up at him with incredible horror when he was done thrashing him about, even though he had done him no physical harm. "George," Fred said sternly, not taking his hands off his brother's shoulders. "You //have// to listen to me." Now that he had his attention, he let go and stood back slightly as George straightened himself. "You've been driving me up the wall with your angry pouting and hissy-fits. I'm sick and tired of it, you hear. I don't want any more of it, understand?"  
  
George pouted as much as Fred described before looking out the window again at hopping Seamus and nodding acquiescently. // Good. // "Now that that's settled," he continued, feeling very highly about himself. "I wanted to talk to you about your...relationships.."  
  
George pouted once more, but said nothing.  
  
// Serves him right. //  
  
"I don't mean it in a jealous, over-protective brotherly way. But just out of plain curiosity, how many lovers have you had...previously?"  
  
George looked at him with curiosity; seeing him in a new light, if you will. "Err... Seven, if you don't count meaningless flirting."  
  
"And counting all that?"  
  
"Nine."  
  
Fred opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but George stopped him by holding out his hand, the look of curiosity growing deeper. "Who they are is personal to me. Some things are better left untold." He lowered his hand, obviously thinking he had one this battle. // Not so fast. // Fred was determined to pry information from him, even if it was the last thing he did.  
  
"Just one question, Georgie." He loved calling his twin that, because of the rage he knew it roused in him. "How many of them were guys?"  
  
George took a good long time in earnest deep thought, mentally counting, most likely, how many they had been. He finally supplied Fred's anxious mind with what by him was a reasonable reply. "Four." Anticipating Fred's next question he hastily responded, "In total."  
  
Fred took his time now, thinking of the next prying question. Though, as he looked at his brother once again finding his gaze on poor eager Seamus, Fred found a wonderful jeering reproach. "That puppy-boy out there one of them?"  
  
George glowered, but retained his over-flowing emotion with more self- control than Fred was capable of. That was the glory of George, he thought happily. A furnace of smoldering passion, yet the self-control of a nun when it was required- or forced. And, despite himself, he truly believed George had been, or was, involved with Seamus. You could tell by the way Seamus looked at him: like hungry cat staring at a can of cat food being opened. It was almost the way he looked at Draco, but that was another story.  
  
George left, as nonplussed as he could manage in his state of antagonizing anger. But, as he left and was greeted at the door by his escort, Seamus stole a second to enter the classroom and have a moment alone with Fred.  
  
He was a small boy, even for his age, with a very boyish, freckled face. A darling, that one, but nothing more, in Fred's mind. He stood with his chest out and his legs spread wide, as if preparing for attack. His child- like face could conceal no emotion. He was full to the brim with rage, his cheeks flushed deep rose from it, his ribbon mouth screwed up in the best sneer he could manage.  
  
Fred lifted his hand to his mouth in a mock yawn. This was his brother's lover, he needn't have patience with him. "You're wasting my time," he drawled sleepily. Seamus didn't move a muscle, rage filling him more and more each passing second.  
  
"He doesn't want you," Seamus said through bared teeth. "He want //me//, no matter what he says. No matter what either of them say! I'm //his// favourite too. And you know who //he// is. //He// loved your brother too. For a long time. But now I'm //his// favourite. I love //him// so, but not as much as I am in love with George. I'm going to love them both, though. And you can't stand in my way!" He stole forward to push Fred by the shoulders. Fred lifted his arms to cover his face as he fell over backwards over a stray desk. The little bugger was strong!  
  
"I'm not going to let a stick-insect like you come traipsing in as if you've fucked everything and its cousin, and hog up //my// lovers! They're mine! //You// can't have them!"  
  
He trudged off in a huff and slammed the door behind him so strongly that he practically knocked it off its hinges.  
  
Fred sat toppled over on the dusty ground of the class-room, quite dizzy and a one hell of whole lot confused.  
  
// What the /fuck/ was that! //  
  
After running everything in his mind round and round a few times, and thinking all the things he had half shouted half said out thoroughly, and being quite sure he had things figured out well-enough to get him by, he stood up and dusted himself off.  
  
So, his thoughts were: Obviously, //He// was Draco. Seamus was or is involved with Draco. Seamus was presently involved romantically with George. George had told him everything about what they had been up to, and had apparently been talking about him an awful lot lately. Draco had turned off Seamus completely, whether they were together or not, and Seamus had some how found out that Draco and he were...together. And in conclusion to everything that had just happened in the classroom, Seamus was a //very// jealous lover. Fred now knew to stay away from him in further events. He would never be able to shake him off. Not to mention the fact that he was extremely greedy.  
  
What struck Fred the hardest was that it was Seamus the whole time. The little, joyous, tike that Ron spoke so fondly of. The little puppy-like boy a friend of a friend of George's was so keen on. He had only heard good things about the kid. And now to find out that he was a slut who slept his way around Hogwarts? What was the world coming to! Next thing he would find Hermione prostituting herself on Diagon Alley- knock on wood and god forbid!  
  
If this wasn't utter chaos, he didn't know what was! And what to do was the worst part of it all. He hadn't the slightest clue where the fuck he should go. To whom. This would soon be the hottest gossip travelling the teenage population of Hogwarts since the Voldemort scare. Surely there must have been a wondering student when Seamus had unleashed his bitchiness. And we all knew the little fucker to have a big mouth. Things would be impossible for god knows how long. God fuck that little shite.  
  
  
  
Now he knew what to do. He would go straight to Draco. He was the one solution to this living hellhole. He would know what to do.  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
~*~don't hate me because I'm beautiful~*~  
  
kisses  
  
gHoSt WRiTTeR (aka Tom) 


End file.
